Another Tale ('In the Lives of the 'Kugelfamily')
by romanuns
Summary: Or, Germany's Three AM Scientific Observation of His Brother's Odd Relationships To Certain Austrians. (Or, How and Why Kugelmugel Has White Hair.)


"_Prussia_!"

The sound of a familiar voice raised into a shout startled him out of his half-asleep dozing. A snort escaped him as Prussia lifted his head. "Oh, hey," he said sleepily, using the hand that wasn't loosely clutching a half-full beer bottle to wave to the figures standing in the doorway. "If it isn't the little master and Kid Picasso! I mean, I love it when you pay me a visit, but what're you guys doin' in West's basement at... at three in the fucking morning?! What the hell is so damn important that-!"

"Prussia, please refrain from using such vulgar language in front of a seven-year-old." Austria seemed irritated. More than usual, anyway; maybe almost as much when His Awesomeness Prussia swung by in the middle of some lame piano sonata-whatever. Like, the kind of annoyed when he'd forgotten to buy coffee the weekend before and spend a morning deprived of caffeine. Or like the annoyed he pretended to be whenever he found a note from Prussia himself scribbled on a Post-It on the G-key of his piano keyboard, maybe or maybe not depicted with affectionate 'words of amazing awesomeness' (and a heart).

"What?" Prussia asked, spreading an arm and waving them over. "He's gonna learn 'em eventually. Right, brat?"

"Yes, but I would prefer for him to learn at an older age than seven, and not from you." Austria sighed as Kugelmugel broke from his side, walking calmly to Prussia's couch and climbed onto it, letting the strong arm pull him close into a hug. Austria crossed his arms, the frown remaining on his face even as Prussia blinked pleadingly up at him over the curve of the kid's head. Austria had probably changed Kugelmugel's shampoo to one that could clean out paint, because his hair smelled kinda odd. "But that isn't my point. Just why do you think I decided to visit you at this ungodly hour, Prussia?"

Prussia realized that not even Austria stayed up all night, playing odes his precious composers until the sun rose again. The priss had on a (certain awesome someone's) red jacket over a pajama shirt, slippers on his feet and ruffled hair; he yawned. "Can you guess why?" he continued sharply, cutting off Prussia's enjoyment of just how beauti- prett- delightfully sloppy, the prince of prissiness looked. "Take a wild guess. Just.. take a good look at him!"

As Austria pointed a finger of accusation, Prussia pulled back a little from the little micronation in his embrace and looked down at the quiet boy under his arm. Kugelmugel had a speck of scarlet red above one of his serene violet eyes, reminding him of the tiny little beauty mark at the corner of Austria's mouth; the boy was in rumpled clothing, a paint-stained shirt and patched green shorts, and bright purple socks. His unruly long hair was pulled into the same tamed hairstyle Austria had braided it into a while ago...

Kugelmugel's tired eyes opened again at Prussia's loud (totally manly) squeal of delight. "Your hair!" Prussia took one of the tightly weaved braids into his hand, running his finger along the plaits down to the band binding them at the bottom. "It's-!"

"_Bleached_!" Austria spat, long legs carrying him across the room as he walked. Prussia grinned up at him, reciprocating the scowl as Austria snatched the braid from his hand and held it up for speculation. "Completely _white_! He dyed his hair _white_! Without my permission or guidance!"

"Shut up! It's art!" Kugelmugel shouted, voice raised defensively as he pulled his braid out of Austria's tugging and yanking hand.

"I think it looks awesome!" Prussia said enthusiastically, a smile he couldn't repress tugging onto his lips. It was probably that smirk that Austria despised, ranting about how infuriatingly smug it looked, but he didn't care if he was hit this time. Prussia brushed the bleached hair out of Kugelmugel's eyes, pressing an affectionate kiss to his forehead. "At least he didn't fuck up making it all one color, or dye it neon pink like that American friend he has did, or- _heaven_ _forbid_, cut it _unevenly_!"

Austria scowled again. "Prussia, this is a serious matter!" he demanded, giving Prussia's arm a swat as a hand curled around his wrist and tugged. "_Tell_ him that he cannot just go dying his hair! It's unnecessary, a waste of my money- he could have spent those twenty euros on ten new tubes of paint he's been whining at me to purchase- a-and why would you even do something like this, Kugelmugel, your hair was just fine _before_ you did this!"

"I told you, Austria, it was art! Dying it was kinda like painting it, only it smelled a little worse and more chemical-ier. My hair is art!"

"Your hair is _not_ art!"

"_Yes_ _it_ _is_!"

"You shouldn't have dyed your hair! Your body is not a canvas or mural, Kugelmugel, that is why you have dozens and dozens of empty sketchbooks and canvases stored in my basement. Oh, I liked your hair before..."

"I didn't _want_ brown hair anymore!"

"Why not? Brown is a perfectly acceptable color!"

"Because it's the color of _your_ hair!"

"Just what in _Gott's_ name is all the _noise_ down here, _bruder_?!"

Prussia's hysterical laughter quieted; Austria and Kugelmugel paused in their shouting. All three of them gave the figure at the doorway the same sheepish look, although the two Austrians didn't sport the grin the former did. "Heya, West!" Prussia chirped, waving a hand to disgruntled Germany, standing crossly in the doorframe with a stern look on his face. "Aristobrat and Kiddo decided to stop by! Hope they didn't wake you, bro."

"No," Germany sighed, uncrossing his arms to readjust the crooked waistband of his dark green boxers. He reached up to push his hair from his narrowed blue eyes. "Fortunately for all of you. If I hadn't been as awake as I had been, you would have wished you all had kept a bit quieter. Austria, what are you doing here?"

"Asking your delinquent brother to be a better role model than to compliment a seven-year-old's bleached hair as 'awesome'," Austria replied, heaving his own sigh of irritation. "I apologize for disturbing you; Kugelmugel is more like Prussia than I'd hoped, what an argumentive little-"

"Hey!" Prussia cut him off, looking slightly put out by the accusation. "I'm not a delinquent! I'm over a thousand years old, I am a grown-ass man, thank you!"

"Really?" Austria snorted. "You certainly don't act like it! Stop behaving like a reckless teenager, Prussia, you have a micronation to influence now."

"I don't behave like a 'reckless teenager'!"

"Yes you do!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too- oh god, did I really just drop to the same intellectual level of _you_?"

"Hey!"

As Austria and Prussia dissolved into more immature bickering, Germany reached up to stave off a headache by pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced down at the bleach-haired child beside him, awkwardly wondering what he should do. "You probably shouldn't be viewing this," he remarked, hesitantly placing a hand on the child's shoulder and guiding him back toward the stairs behind them. "I'm, uh, sorry they argue so much."

"It's okay, Mr. Germany," Kugelmugel replied, shooting him a hooded look as he began climbing the steps with a hand hovering above the handrail. "It's how they show that they love each other. Do you have apple juice? Austria won't let me have anything but ice water after nine."

"Yeah, I think we have some in the fridge.." Germany paused mid-step, his foot raised as he digested the micronation's response. 'It's how they show they love each other.' Austria and Prussia? _Loving_ each other? How was _that_ possible in any imaginable universe, especially _this_ one?! They'd antagonized each other in almost every battle in modern European history! They even fought over stupid things, like who left their towel to soak up the water on the bathroom floor, or who would eventually win a thousand euros and free drinks for a year on whether England would run into France or America's arms. (Personally, Germany believed that France would make a better friend, but he wasn't a part of their bet so 'his opinion was stupid and didn't matter.') They couldn't _love_ each other behind all the endless fighting..

...could they?

Germany blinked, finally resurfacing from his reverie. Kugelmugel had disappeared into the upper level of the house, and there was silence coming from his brother's bedroom. He cautiously turned around on the staircase, and bent at the waist to peer into brother's bedroom from the third step up. He saw Austria's dark brunet head tilted and resting on Prussia's shoulder, with the latter's head resting on Austria's and his bare arm wrapped around his shoulders on the back of the couch. Their banter had fallen silent, and Germany averted his eyes, turning around to travel up the steps as he caught a snatch of Prussia moving a hand and tilting Austria's chin upward and leaning downward...

They reappeared after a short while; Kugelmugel had drank three of Italy's juice boxes, and retired to the couch to have a passionate discussion about the arts, particularly painting. Germany caught a glimpse of Austria slipping his hand into Prussia's, as he carried the fourth round of juice boxes to Italy and Kugelmugel in the common room.

"..and Austria called my hair stupid, when it's a form of art!"

"Ve, Mr. Austria has called-a my art stupid before too! Have-a you seen all-a his portraits? _I_ was-a the one to paint-a all-a those moustaches on his faces, hehe! _Grazie_ for-a the juice, Germany!"

"Awesome!"

"What's awesome, kiddo?" Just as Germany shooed the cat from the seat of his favorite chair and sat, Prussia marched into the front room, dragging Austria by the wrist. He flopped down onto the couch on the right side of Kugelmugel, nearly sending the child bouncing up with the force. "You were discussing the almighty me, yeah?"

"They were probably talking about art, you fool," Austria muttered, taking a seat in the armchair across the coffee table from Germany. "No one but history books discuss _you_ anymore."

"_Tch_, shut the fuck up, Austria," Prussia snarled, kicking out a foot toward him. "Pull the diamond-grade stick out of your ass and appreciate what a blessing my presence is, you loser!" Austria hummed, unconcerned at Prussia's 'narcissistic garbage' and gently kept Italy's hugging at bay with a hand.

Maybe they could really.. _love_ each other, Germany mused as he watched Kugelmugel hide close to Prussia's side, wailing 'my hair is art!' at Austria as the other stood and started complaining about his newly dyed hair once again. Prussia's arm slyly wrapped around Austria's waist. Austria allowed it.

Perhaps it was time for Germany to join the betting pool among the nations: maybe winning hundreds of euros from the others about whether his brother and Austria would wind up together wouldn't be so bad..


End file.
